


That We Love

by Aivix



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aivix/pseuds/Aivix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with one pact made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That We Love

When Bash arrived, it looked as though Francis was perhaps only asleep, resting so comfortably on the forest floor, but Mary's tear-stained cheeks, the blood on his brother's clothing, it neatly reminded him why he had been called for.

His voice broke as he murmured, “Oh, Francis,” and went to Mary's side.

She was too despondent to move, to speak, to think; she didn't acknowledge her brother-in-law, either with word or action, and he kissed her temple in the hope that she would take some comfort in knowing that he was there with her.

“Return to the castle, bring the Queen Mother.”

The guards followed the order swiftly, two remaining while the others left. The clod of horseshoes on hard ground grew distant, the ones that were still tied to the trees nearby whinnying and braying.

He turned his attention back to Mary, the woman now shivering. Shock had set in, not surprising, and she was growing steadily more pale. A guard went off for a blanket or one of the winter capes Francis had had her maids pack; the other guard took his leave at Bash's order, following the other back to the carriage.

Alone, Bash swallowed around the lodge in his throat and said, “Mary, he's gone.”

She shook her head.

A sigh slipped free of him. “Please, Mary, he would not want for you to sit here like this.”

If there was one thing in this world Francis would have wanted, it was for Mary to be cared for in her grief, to not sit in old leaves and dirt and blood, with a body empty of a soul.

“I can't move, Bash. I can't leave him.”

“He will not be alone. I will stay with him. My brother.”

She finally looked to him and oh, Bash's heart ached: this woman, this beautiful woman he had never been happier to know as family, looked broken. Her face bore the expression of pure depression yet there was a rage in her eyes that spoke of terrible things to come, and for a moment, Sebastian de Poitiers felt true fear.

It felt as though Mary were preparing to burn down kingdoms, to fight a war that she'd already lost and thus had nothing more to give.

Bash knew in his heart that Mary had the last of her lingering innocence stolen from her with Francis' death and that kind of pain had led lesser men to drink themselves into a grave: a Queen did not have the luxury of a peasant's self-destruction. She would not only lead herself down a dark path, she would take many people on the journey with her.

And in that moment, he knew that Francis had died, but he could not stay dead.

To save France and to save Mary, Francis had to live and breathe, had to reign as King and keep his Queen from the side of herself that Bash never wanted to ever see again.

So he drew into himself, knowledge ancient and old and borne to him from his Mother spilling forward, and he held Mary close with one arm while the other slid under the linen of Francis' shirt to sprawl over his heart. Something pulled at him, so evil and dark, then at the light that surrounded Mary and he snarled at it brutally: Mary had made her pact with the devil to save Francis the first time—this time it was Bash that would call into the depths of hell and trade his soul for his brother's.

“Bash.”

Mary's voice was far off.

“Sebastian.”

Catherine's voice was farther still.

He ground out words in Latin quickly, incantations that were sibilant, demands that were skirting the edge of shouting, and his vision clouded with streaks of white, yellow, green, blue...

There was a gasp below him, the sudden beat of a heart under his fingers.

A distance away, in quarters deep within the castle walls, Stéphane Narcisse took a struggled breath and fell to the floor like a stone.


End file.
